Sara
by Chornyi
Summary: The obligatory child-Ian story.


SARA  
  
By Choryi  
  
Not mine, not even Ian, unfortunately.   
  
This is the young Ian story...   
  
....................................................................................  
  
'Ian. Please come into the study. I have something for you.'   
  
Ian obeys quickly, coming to stand by his master's chair. Irons looks at him for a moment, a small, mysterious smile on his face.  
  
'You are a lonely child, Ian, are you not?'  
  
'I am not lonely, Mr. Irons.' Ian answers, his eyes downcast.  
  
'Come now, Ian. You have no friends, no... Contemporaries. It is just you and I, all alone in this big mansion. Can you honestly tell me that you don't long for companionship?'  
  
'I have all the companionship I need in the books you give me to read.. and in you.'  
  
Irons smiles, and Ian's heart lifts at the warmth in that look.   
  
He has pleased his father.  
  
'A good, answer, young Ian.' Irons says. 'Nevetheless, I have brought you something to make your life a warmer place. That is what children need, I am told. Warmth. Security. Love?'  
  
His voice takes on a slightly mocking note on the last word.  
  
Ian's small chin firms and he looks up at Irons briefly. 'I need only what you give me, sir.'  
  
'And I am giving you this. Maria? Bring in the present.'  
  
The maid walks in, eyes downcast. She holds something in her arms, and it takes Ian a moment to realize the bundle is alive.  
  
'Give it to the boy,' Irons orders.  
  
The maid walks to Ian and places the living, squirming bundle in his arms.  
  
Small dark eyes stare up at him from a foxy little face. Her fur is red-gold. A puppy.  
  
'It is called a Shiba Inu. An ancient Japanese breed,' Irons informs him. 'It is yours, Ian. Your responsibility. See that it does not disturb me, hmm?'  
  
Ian looks up at his father, eyes shining. 'She is.. mine?'  
  
'Yes.'  
  
Ian looks down at the puppy again. She is small, perhaps 8 pounds, red gold above, creamy below with small triangular ears, a plush coat and a tail that forms a tight single curl.  
  
Her eyes are small, dark and slanted. She struggles in his grasp and reaches up to lick, then bite his chin.  
  
Ian looks back at Irons. 'What is her name?'  
  
'That is for you to decide, Ian. What do you wish to call her?'  
  
Ian thinks for a minute. Then he looks up at Irons tentatively.  
  
'Well?' the man says. 'What is it going to be?'  
  
'Sara.' Ian answers, his voice so soft Irons can hardly hear it.  
  
Irons actually laughs. 'After the Wielder, hmm? A fine name, Ian. And now, leave me please. I'm busy.'  
  
'Yes, sir.'  
  
Ian almost runs out of the study, holding the puppy close agaisnt his breast.   
  
He takes her to his own room, and places her on the pallet. A soon as he lets go of her, she falls over onto her side, as if her feet won't hold her.   
  
The small ringed tail flicks slowly from side to side- he will learn later that this is her version of a wag, a characteristic of the breed.  
  
Suddenly, her small ears perk forward and she paws at his sheet, then grabs a fold up in her mouth.  
  
'Sara!' he says sharply. 'No!'  
  
Her ears flatten and she cringes down. Instantly, Ian is contrite. Gathering her up, he hugs her close. 'It is alright, Sara. But you mustn't chew the sheets.'  
  
Ian's first night with the puppy is one frought with misery. It seems like every second he starts to fall asleep, she wants to play. Pawing his face, chewing on his ears, barking her sharp, hoarse little bark.   
  
She bounces around his room like an animated rubber ball.  
  
When she is not playing, she is squatting on the floor, something he knows Irons will disapprove of.  
  
He tries to discipline her at first, attempting to teach her as Irons taught him, but after a few tries, he gives up.  
  
She adores him. Every harsh word is met with cringing, crying, frantic licking as she attempts to apologize.  
  
He cannot bear it, so he simply lets her have her way.  
  
It is nearly morning when she finally falls asleep, a small red-gold ball curled in the middle of his bed, worn out from all her play.  
  
Ian has finally closed his eyes and lain down beside her when he hears the knock at his door that signals it is time for his morning lesson.  
  
Rubbing his eyes, he forces his body upright.  
  
'Ian, you look tired,' Irons says at breakfast.  
  
'No, sir.' Ian answers.  
  
He spends every spare minute with Sara.  
  
But there really isn't that much time to be with her. Between lessons, reading and the new martial arts training, he hardly has a free minute to himself.  
  
But every minute that he does spend with Sara is a minute like none he has known before.  
  
There is no reserve in her affection- she gives it wholeheartedly and to him alone.  
  
For the first time in his life, Ian knows what it means to be loved.. and to love.  
  
For a time, the puppy even supplants his devotion to the real Sara, the Wielder, who he knows only from pictures and Irons' words. Unlike that Sara, the puppy is alive and warm and real.  
  
There are obstructions to their happiness, though.  
  
At first, Ian keeps Sara strictly in his own room, but after a time she begins to cry and bark when he leaves her. She is not so small as she was, and her voice is louder.   
  
For fear of her barking distubing Irons, he begins to allow her outside the room when he is present to watch her.  
  
And things happen.  
  
There was the time that he was reading Proust and she chewed the edge of the Oriental rug in the library.  
  
Then there was the time that he did not shut the door of their room correctly and she made her way into the kitchen. It was only by luck that he caught her before Maria saw her and complained to her master.  
  
Yet the times when they are together are the happiest times he has ever known.  
  
Alone in his room, they lie on the bed together, he stroking her thick coat while she nibbles at his fingers.   
  
He talks to her. He tells her about the Wielder and their destiny.   
  
And she listens.  
  
Outside on the lawn around the mansion, they play- he chasing her, she running from him until she turns suddenly and catapults herself into his arms, knocking them both down.   
  
He doesn't know Irons watches.  
  
He lifts her up, hugging her, burying his face in her fur. 'I love you, Sara.'  
  
She is all the warmth he has never had.  
  
He loves her utterly.  
  
But the mistakes keep happening.   
  
She chews the edge of his sheet until it is frayed- he hides the edge by folding it under.  
  
She tears up a volume of Shakespeare. He buries it in the kitchen trash.   
  
She pees on the Oriental in the library. He scrubs the spot, but it won't disappear.  
  
He is furious. He fears for her. He loves her anyway.  
  
'Sara, you mustn't!' he says, holding her by the ruff, forcing her to look into his eyes. She cries and he pulls her into a hug. 'I'm sorry, Sara. But you musn't do these things!'  
  
But she is a puppy.  
  
She doesn't understand his words, and he can't protect her.  
  
'Ian.'  
  
'Yes, sir?'  
  
'Do you remember what I told you about the dog?'  
  
'Yes, sir.' Ian squirms, wanting to get to Sara.  
  
'You may go.'  
  
He runs into their room, calling her. 'Sara!'  
  
But no red-gold form leaps to greet him, no warm tongue caresses his face, no puppy scurries across the floor, tail moving in that silly clockwork wag.  
  
'Sara?'  
  
...  
  
'Where is she?'  
  
'Do not raise your voice to me, young Ian.' Irons answers calmly.  
  
With difficulty, Ian lowers his voice and his eyes. 'I'm sorry, sir. Please, where is she?'  
  
'I told you the dog must not disturb me.'  
  
'I am sorry.. She did not.. I did not..'  
  
'Do not lie to me, Ian. What is this?' Irons holds up a tattered book. Ian recognizes it as the Shakespeare Sara tore up. 'Maria found this in the garbage, Ian. Why wasn't I told of this?'  
  
Ian feels a sudden burning in his eyes. He sets his chin and refuses to let the tears fall. 'I.. I was afraid you would be angry.'  
  
'Ah.'  
  
'Please, sir. I am sorry. I will do better. Where is Sara?'  
  
Irons raises his brows and gives that small smile that Ian hates because it makes him feel helpless, weak. 'The dog is gone.' Irons says. 'I thought you were old enough for the responsibility. You are not. You are a child, Ian, and you are not capable of looking after a pet.'  
  
'Where is she!' Ian cries.  
  
'Leave me now.' Irons says calmly.  
  
'Where IS she!'  
  
'Ian, remember who you are speaking to.'  
  
'WHERE IS SHE!' Ian throws himself toward Irons, tears streaming down his face, small hands balled into fists.   
  
Irons catches him easily and holds him away from his body.  
  
'Dr. Immo. A sedative for the boy, please. He is overwrought.'  
  
...  
  
Sara is gone. He will never find out where she is. Is she even alive? What has Irons done with her?   
  
Ian lies on his pallet, face pressed into the mattress. His fingers slip underneath and find the frayed edge of the sheet, clutch it as if it is a lifeline. 'Sara, Sara..' he sobs.  
  
He wants to hold her, to bury his fingers in the thick coat, to see her laughing smile again.   
  
His puppy. The only thing that has ever loved him.   
  
And she is gone.  
  
...  
  
'Perhaps when you are older, we will have another dog.' Irons tells him.  
  
'I don't want another dog. Sir.'  
  
'You will want what I tell you you want, Ian.'  
  
'Yes, sir.'  
  
...  
  
It is nearly three months later when Dr. Immo stops Ian in the hallway on his way to his martial arts training.  
  
'Ian.' The Doctor looks around the hallway to make sure they are alone. 'Here.'  
  
Taking something from his pocket, he slips it into Ian's hand. Ian looks down at the object.   
  
A photograph.  
  
A picture of a red-gold dog with a laughing smile.   
  
It's a dog, not a puppy, but he recognizes Sara. Two small children kneel on either side of her, their fingers gripping her by the ruff.  
  
'I placed her myself,' Dr. Immo says softly. 'I thought you'd like to know.'  
  
Ian carefully slips the photograph into his pocket. When he looks up at Dr. Immo, his face is expressionless.  
  
'Thank you, Doctor.' he says.  
  
Then he turns and walks away.  
  
Dr. Immo sighs and looks after him. 'It worked, Kenneth,' he says to the empty hall. 'I hope you are pleased with the results.'  
  
Kenneth Irons steps up beside him. 'Oh, I will be, Dr. Immo.' he answers.   
  
'I will be.'  
  
--- 


End file.
